


Parked Outside.

by Shalaidah



Series: The Afghan Whigs [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Internal Conflict, Songwriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shalaidah/pseuds/Shalaidah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While sleeping with one friend Isabela thinks of another, and wonders when it all got so dratted complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parked Outside.

**Author's Note:**

> So I never intended for this to be a series, but I can't stop listening to my Afghan Whig's playlist. And so when writing my second ever piece of fanfic...this happened? I'm still learning all the tags and ratings, so sorry if I messed any of it up. I'd love to know your thoughts, and if you'd be interested in seeing any other character's POV? I have two in mind if anyone is curious. Thanks for any kudos, comments, and feedback. I'm trying to write in these character's voices, but I know I have improvement to do! 
> 
> Dragon Age and all inhabitants belong to Bioware. Any italicized quotes are directly from the game.

_“_ _Divine in her disarray, pinnacle her persuasion_

_On her cross you lay,  Serial supplication_

_Defy your beating heart,  Only trouble can save me_

_Take a walk on the river and then,  Suffer your superstition again_

_You're gonna make me break down and cry.”_

[The Afghan Whigs: Parked Outside. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBTqCc4Eu3M)  

If you were going to regret something at two in the morning, odds are it would involve sex, liquor, and where you were sleeping. Regret was not something Isabela indulged in often. It meant you had done something wrong, and she’d learned a long time ago the dangers of letting others pin you down with their cage of morality. Far better to laugh, live, and love lightly. With no games and no illusions, no one got hurt. So the twinge she felt looking at the lanky elf in her bed was uncomfortable indeed. They were both foot loose and fancy free, able to indulge as they chose. And she’d indeed had her eye on the silver haired wolf since she’d first seen him. And now she’d had him. It should be simple. Why was it never simple anymore? 

Turning to pat blindly beside the bed, she searched for the half drunken bottle of some overly sweet Tevinter red. She couldn’t stand the stuff herself, but Fenris seemed determined to rot his teeth out with it. Probably his way of proving his freedom to himself, with every drink of the bottle he used to pour for his owner. Shame he couldn’t fixate on something fun instead. But then again, fun wasn’t the word one first used to describe the broodypants. Sitting up, she grabbed the bottle to raise her lips. But instead of the ruby glint of wine, she found herself holding a miniature replica of a ship in a bottle. 

“ _I have something for you.”_

 _“Oh what’s this? Oh, isn’t that just the cutest thing!”_

_“It reminded me of you.”_  

Gently placing the bottle aside, she stood and stretched the kinks out of her unclothed body. When she’d first gotten him out of those pants, it’d been for his own good really. They’d both been lusting over the same person, and she assumed it would be healthy for Fenris. Sex was the best medicine. It was good for him to learn to enjoy it and trust his own body’s reactions again. And since sex never complicated her world, she’d hadn’t considered it would complicate theirs this time. Well his. Surely she wasn’t falling into this maudlin stupidity. Oh blast it. There was definitely a third party in their bed, and she hadn’t even had the good sense to fuck them before haunting their sheets. 

“ _I…I’ve been thinking. You were right. We shouldn’t have let Castillon go. I should have known better. Oh, I can’t believe I’m even admitting this to you!”_

 _“Admitting you were wrong is the first step to changing.”_

_“Say another sappy thing like that and I’m going to hit you.”_

That was the problem with good people. You went around all your life assuming the crazy heroes from Varric’s books didn’t exist. And the when you met one in the luscious flesh, you didn’t realize it until you’d wrecked their city, slept with their…something, and flirted with the hurricane’s edge of change before you realized you had been sucked in. Before you knew it you’d become helpful, a friend, while sometimes pineing like a two bit whore after the first customer who tipped you extra. 

It was pathetic really, how they both danced around Hawke. Of course, given the glances and awkward silences, she suspected the Hawke and the Wolf (ooh, Varric would love that title) had done more than dance at one point. Fenris dodging the bookie's dagger a bit too slowly because his gaze was focused on protecting Hawke. Hawke decimating the bookie as if Fenris had taken an arrow to the gut. Both of them breaking apart like a mage and templar escaping chantry service when they realized their eyes had met. And her flirting with both of them for a reaction, not knowing what kind she even wanted. “Reckless Isabela. Even for you.” If she was kind, she would use her experience to push Fenris towards Hawke. It would be easier to wind him up in that direction than Hawke would ever guess, when it’s what part of him dreamed of. But how could she do that when she still hungered for the too good mage herself? And when Hawke had taken personally a liaison that had never been more than two friends having fun and forgetting. 

“Should I be concerned about what’s lurking in the corner you are so intently watching?” She turned her gaze back to the deliciously tousled man in her bed. His lyrium marking glowed in the night, his torso bare minus an odd scrap of red cloth that obviously held some sentimental value to him, given he always kept it close. His eyes met hers in distant amusement, lingering over her form more in observance than out of lascivious intent. 

“Wondering if Madame Lusine would give me a bottle of West Hill Brandy cheaper with or without pants on. Its such a bother to get dressed again when you’re just going to take it them off again later, don’t you think?” She threw him an exaggerated wink. Andraste’s arsecheeks, she just needed out of this room with all of these thoughts circling in her brain. This was why she should never have come back to Kirkwall. Stupid feelings with their stupid thoughts and feelings and more thoughts that led you to feeling more…” 

" _Why do you keep coming here? You're better than this."_

 _"The fact is you and I have nothing in common anymore. You're a Champion. And I'm just a lying, thieving snake._ _"_

_"You're just afraid of being anything else."_

_'I don't know how to be anything else."_

Any yet that wasn't true either anymore. The fact that she was even thinking about this proved that in some way, Hawke was steering her ship,  charting a new course, one for which she had no map. And Isabela knew herself well enough to realize this was the closest she'd ever gotten to giving up the wheel.

Fenris chuckled, his gravely voice as lust addling as ever. “I can see that you’ve made great progress in this decision. Though I’m sure we’ve the rest of last bottle left.” His eyes drifted around the room, stopping when they spied the ship at her feet. “Of course, there is no reason why a new bottle could not be enjoyed as well.” He stood quickly, his leather returning to his body far more eagerly than it had been taken off. 

“Fenris, the more stiff ones the better. Oh, and liquor too.” He finished rolling his eyes at her, and she threw on a brief robe. In odd companionship, they headed downstairs. She knew that she would return upstairs alone. Better to stay pals. Friends were much easier than…not friends. 

 **_“_ ** _Friend of yours?”_

 **_“_ ** _You speak the word as if it were cheap coin, meant for spending.”_

 **_“_ ** _You don't know me.”_

_“Oh, I know your type.”_

Two o’clock regrets were painful. Luckily the Rose always had just the thing or person to wash them away with. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading all the way through! Placing your writing in the hands of strangers online is nerve-breaking. Isabela is challenging, as I can imagine her trying to balance the ballsly bravado that is half true, and half to cover her vulnerability.


End file.
